Black Ransom (26 page)

Both were inside the house when the clouds of smoke began to rise from deep within the southern cliffs of Brimstone Canyon, pressing gray against the purple cloud smudges and spreading out before dissipating along the panoramic mural.

Many years before, Chiricahua scouts had brought forth information to the tribe that miles beyond where they camped there was a cabin where some white men dwelled. Since these people did not encroach upon their sacred land where they held council and where many of their people had been buried, the Chiricahua, though warlike in nature, had let them be. A lengthy and somewhat treacherous distance separated them, and in their wisdom they recognized the consequences of such an assault to achieve so little. Yet the Chiricahua were prepared to protect their ground and had displayed their retaliation tactics when once a man had ventured too far into their territory and had been tortured and killed for his trespassing.

Now a more serious trouble had presented itself. News of the death of one of the tribe had been brought to the Chiricahua, described as an act of aggression, by the young warrior who had run a great distance on foot. Worse, the youth who had been killed was the son of one of the tribal elders. The council met briefly to discuss the matter before it was decided that the white man responsible must pay with his life for his action and retaliation must be swift and merciless. The council also judged that those who were with him, those who might dare to prevent them from seeking their justice, must not interfere or they would suffer the same fate.

TWENTY-SIX

WARD CRAWFORD WAS
a cautious man. During those times when he was on the run with the law in pursuit, he had trained himself to stay awake for long hours with one finger tensed on the trigger of his Colt. Nothing much had changed. He'd formed a habit that served him well. It would come in handy on this night.

Come sunup, he would exact retribution upon Judge Harrison and Superintendent Watson. Until then, he wanted them to sweat out the night in uncertainty. By morning both would make their final decision as to which two among the four would die, and he and Ehron Lee would carry out the executions.

Ward stuffed the kerchief back into George Watson's mouth and tied the knot firmly so that the dirty fabric pressed deeply and painfully into his cheeks. The discomfort was intentional. He explained to his partner, who was watching the procedure, that he was merely taking a precaution. He stated that he wanted neither man to have the opportunity to speak before daybreak.

Ward sat himself at the far end of the kitchen table, where he could keep watch. He wasn't about to stray too far with Melinda Burrows just several feet away in the next room. He also intended to keep awake 'til sunrise. His distrust was such that he feared if he allowed himself even a few minutes of shut-eye, Ehron Lee might use the opportunity to sneak into the bedroom to speak with his wife. Ward hadn't decided exactly what he would do in the event that should happen, but he'd come to realize in his steadily growing paranoia, hastened by Cora's questioning and the presence of Melinda Burrows, that circumstances threatened to become tenuous enough that a single misstep by Ehron Lee might edge him closer to a bullet, which would regrettably but effectively end their partnership.

As Ward sat taking periodic glances at Ehron Lee, he now debated the wisdom in his move to bring them all to the cabin. George Watson was sure enough a dead man in any case. Would it have been smarter just to have shot them all back at Border Pass? Ehron Lee would never have had to know about his wife and the marshal lying in wait. All Ward would have to tell him was that Watson had brought along a gun and Ward was forced to shoot him in self-defense. He now knew that he should have made that choice. It would have prevented the complication that Melinda Burrows's being among them possibly presented.

For the time being, all Ward could do was play his hand as the cards were dealt. Whatever might develop between now and sunrise, he intended to maintain the edge.

Ward eyed the jug of whiskey still on the table and resisted the urge to take a swig. He had a thirst but had to keep himself alert. The days had been long and he knew even a few belts would make him groggy.

Cora knew that, too. She watched Ward surreptitiously as he took this time to relax. The fatigue was evident on his features. To ward off the inroads of sleep, he constantly and deliberately swept his tobacco-stained fingers through his greasy black hair. If Cora could coax him into taking a drink, maybe two, there was little question he would soon surrender to a deep slumber. She needed only a few minutes to talk with Ehron Lee.

She reached across the table and gently pushed the jug of whiskey toward Ward. Ward watched with half interest as the jug slid across the surface, and when it was before him, he lifted pouched, tired eyes toward Cora and smiled weakly.

Cora returned the smile and gave a nudge of her head.

“Why'nt yuh go ahead,” she said. “Ehron Lee and me can watch things here.”

Ward looked at her dully for a few moments longer, and then he reached for the jug and started to lift it to his lips. He noticed the expectant expression Cora had on her face. And in that instant he shattered her expectations by shattering the jug against the side of the table. Ehron Lee, who sat facing the two hostages in the front room, turned suddenly. Cora's eyes widened and a lump formed in her throat.

Suddenly Ward looked
very
alert.

“‘Have a drink, Ward,'” he said in a mocking voice. “‘Me and Ehron Lee can watch things.'”

Ward thrust his body away from the table and withdrew his Colt from its holster in a swift, fluid movement. He aimed the revolver at Cora, held steady for an instant, then turned the black hole of the gun barrel toward his amigo, his partner-in-crime, Ehron Lee.

Ehron Lee likewise rose to his feet. He was startled by the unexpected move, but he stayed calm.

“You better watch how you're handlin' that,” he cautioned.

“'Fraid my finger might slip, Burrows?” Ward returned in a taunt. “Fact is, been watchin' a lot, and I just ain't sure anymore if I can trust either of yuh.”

“You're just tired,” Ehron Lee said, keeping his voice level. “Been a lot for alla us. Like you said, we finish this in the morning, then we get movin'.”

Ward eyed his partner skeptically. “Yuh mean nothin's changed?”

Ehron Lee appeared puzzled by the remark.

Ward clarified his point when he nudged his head toward the far bedroom, which held his partner's wife. He was sly, playing each of his moves a certain way, but his senses were attuned to even the slightest false note in Ehron Lee's manner or response.

Ehron Lee understood the gesture, and at the same time he recognized the need to pacify his partner, ease whatever doubts he had. He was careful in his reply.

“You been keepin' a level head up to now, Ward. This ain't the time to go gettin' antsy.”

Ward gave a slow nod.

“Okay, Burrows, only a few hours to go,” he said grimly. “Then we finish this.”

Ehron Lee gave an agreeable nod, aware that Ward was carefully scrutinizing his every move.

Ward eyed him with a tight stare. “I mean we
finish
this, Burrows. 'Til then I'll be watchin' . . . and so will my pistol.”

Ehron Lee nodded.

Ward motioned toward Ehron Lee's gun belt with an upward jerk of his revolver.

“And that bein' said, don't see the need for any extra gun,” Ward added. “Think I'd feel a mite more trustin' if'n you'd pass me over yours.”

Ehron Lee was staring into a bullet and knew he really didn't have a choice. Nor was there any point in his arguing. Handing over his gun was the last thing he wanted to do, but wordlessly, he slowly withdrew his revolver and thrust it butt-forward at Ward.

“Just takin' another precaution,” Ward explained with a fierce grin.

Ehron Lee sat back in his chair. His brain racing, he found himself in a predicament, one that he had never expected to experience when he and Ward had embarked on their plan of retribution. He wanted to talk to Melinda, but he knew that even if that were possible, she would try to convince him to free the hostages, and with the situation taking the turn it had, he truthfully couldn't know if he would be able to resist her pleas. He still possessed a burning hatred toward Judge Harrison and Superintendent Watson for what he had endured at their discretion, the injustice of his conviction and imprisonment. The sadistic cruelty he had endured at Rockmound. But what had propelled him most was his belief that because of their actions he had been denied his wife. Now learning the truth, that it had been Abigail who had engineered a betrayal that not only affected him but Melinda as well, he doubted that he could bring himself to execute, or even permit the killing of, the two men.

What was worse was that innocent people would also likely die. Judging by what he now saw in Ward, he had no doubt his partner intended to kill everyone, possibly including Melinda, so that there would be no witnesses left behind. Ward was a cold killer; covering his tracks was more important to him than sparing lives. Yet he had to know that Ehron Lee would never stand by and watch him murder his wife. At that point, if there was any sense left in him, Ward Crawford had to expect there would be a showdown. Maybe he even welcomed it.

And when—
if
—it did come to that moment, Ehron Lee knew that he could turn killer.

But his Colt had been taken from him . . . he wouldn't stand a chance going up against Ward unarmed.

As the time ticked by and a tense silence engulfed the cabin, Ward fought to keep awake. He had Cora make him strong coffee, several cups of which he guzzled down as if it were fine whiskey. He kept vigilant, rarely letting his attention veer from Cora and Ehron Lee, both of whom he insisted sit with him at the table.
They
were his concern now, not his prisoners. Ward had laid Ehron Lee's gun on the table and kept a hand over it, the implication clear. He was prepared to use it if either of them tried anything funny. Cora couldn't guess what Ehron Lee was thinking, but her own thoughts were clear: She and Ehron Lee were as much Ward's prisoners as the hostages.

Ehron Lee periodically shifted his eyes toward Cora, quick, furtive glances that she caught and interpreted. At least she hoped she was reading them correctly. The look in his eyes seemed to express to her that Ehron Lee had misgivings about what was to come, and that he needed to find some way to stop Ward before sunrise. Cora understood that if Ehron Lee was, in fact, of another mind, this change in attitude was likely due to his wife now being involved and that she was as much in danger as any of them. But no matter what the reason, regardless of her own twinges of jealousy at Melinda's presence, she was glad for it.

Ward tilted his chin upward, indicating George Watson and Judge Harrison. He returned the solemn gaze of both men.

“Look at them two,” he said glumly. “Gotta wonder what's goin' through their heads, knowin' what's comin' up in just a few hours.” He turned to Ehron Lee. “Sorry it won't be you what's pullin' the trigger, amigo. Reckon you are, too.”

Ehron Lee simply regarded Ward with a blank expression, deliberately concealing whatever he was feeling. He wasn't sitting far from the gun that lay on the table. More than once he debated making a grab for it; Ward was tired, his eyes were heavy-lidded, and lines of fatigue showed on his face. Just maybe his reflexes would be slowed enough for Ehron Lee to snatch it from him . . .

Or just maybe Ward would shoot him dead, which meant no one had a chance.

As with the hostages, he would have to wait. Sweat out the next hours and hope for the miracle of just the right moment.

Cora's mind was working, too, and she saw what might be an opportunity. A slim chance but it was all that they had. She kept notice of Ward's exhaustion and his struggle to stay awake. Yet she knew there was no guarantee he would give in to his fatigue. In fact, it was doubtful. She'd witnessed for herself his stubbornness, even against his body's needs. When he set his mind to something, his determination was fierce, and she had never seen him as determined as he was now. Even if he dozed, Cora feared Ward would keep one eye half open.

Cora recognized another problem. Ward Crawford was a man who lived by his instincts, and as such was never what one could call a rational man even under circumstances when his thinking was clear. With his brain fogged from fatigue and mounting suspicion, he was completely unpredictable. The slightest provocation might trigger him to act on impulse.

Her own brain worked feverishly. Ehron Lee needed to arm himself. She knew it likely would be suicide for him to make a grab for the gun lying on the table. Despite Ward's sleep-deprived appearance, it was always possible he might be feigning fatigue just to see how far they would go . . . to see if either of them might be reckless enough to attempt a move against him. He never totally trusted anyone, and Cora didn't put it past him to be much more alert than how he was coming across.

But—she knew there were other weapons kept in back outside. Hidden in a feed chest. If she could get outdoors, somehow slip a gun to Ehron Lee without Ward noticing . . .

It was a chance she decided she had to take.

“I have to go outside,” she blurted out.

“Huh?” Ward said, at the same time giving his head a reviving shake.

Cora gave him a strong look and repeated, “Outside.”

It took a moment for Ward to comprehend. “Out back?”

Cora nodded demurely.

Ward hesitated as he regarded her skeptically.

“Well, come with me if you hafta,” Cora said haughtily.

Ward's eyes slid across the table to Ehron Lee, who sat there with a look that didn't reveal anything. His expression was genuine; he had no idea what Cora was planning to do outside of the obvious.

Nor could Ward be sure she was up to anything. He had been sitting in prison during the time his outlaw companions started using the feed chest as a place to store their surplus firepower, weapons seized from their numerous raids. He knew nothing about the cache.

Still, he didn't like it. A seemingly innocent, necessary request—but his instincts made him wary.

“All right,” he finally grumbled. “But make it quick.”

Cora wished that Ehron Lee would again turn to look at her, but his attention was on the two hostages. She hoped that even brief eye contact between them would indicate her intention. For her plan to succeed, there had to be a silent agreement between the two. He had to be ready to accept her passing of the gun when she came back inside. The transfer had to be as smooth as silk, undetected by Ward. With Ehron Lee not knowing what she had in mind, he might not be prepared and react accordingly, thus alerting Ward that something was up.